Читать книгу Love In Plain Sight - Jeanie London - Страница 12

CHAPTER TWO

Two weeks later

JUST DRIVING THROUGH New Orleans and parking in front of Mama DiLeo’s house made Courtney feel better. As if she were somehow in control of her life. As if she somehow had a say. She didn’t, but for one shining moment, she almost felt that way.

Late summer heat pounded at the windows even this early in the day, but she sat there, ensuring that her emotions wouldn’t leak around the edges. Not usually a problem, but with life upside-down, the self-control she took for granted was giving her fits.

Courtney had been placed on administrative leave from work while the FBI conducted the investigation on Araceli Ruiz-Ortiz—a situation that had gotten worse when the girl they’d presumed was Araceli had also gone missing within days of the classroom fight that revealed this mess.

Life had come to a screeching halt for Courtney. Days that had passed at a frenetic pace and ended with still so much to be done were suddenly empty. Hour after hour, from the time she opened her eyes until they shut of their own accord—who could sleep anymore?—were minutes ticking by with no purpose.

No more caring for kids. No more stabilizing, learning and managing their lives. Her keys to the department had been confiscated. She had been temporarily evicted from her office and told to wait for others to sort out the situation of the mixed-up and missing girls. She had been told there was nothing she could do but catch up on things at home.

But all the jobs Courtney had once intended to squeeze into long weekends had been forgotten—the flower bed around her new shed, wallpapering the tiny interior of her niece’s dollhouse, tiling the wall behind the sink in the kitchen. Somehow she had managed to be more productive during those weekends that passed in the blink of an eye than she did now with day after endless day free.

Two eternal weeks as the FBI launched an investigation with all the deliberation of a law enforcement agency that had no hope of finding Araceli alive. Courtney had been obedient, even patient, but as each day passed with a lot of wasted time and no discernible progress, she had grown frustrated and frightened.

After learning from Giselle that the FBI had been searching for the fake Araceli and hadn’t yet begun a search for the real one, Courtney could no longer wait for others to sort out the situation.

So here she was at Mama DiLeo’s house, two hours before Sunday dinner, armed with the beginnings of a plan.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Courtney opened the car door, finally ready. She had to knock only once before a lilting voice called, “Coming.”

The door swung wide, and Mama DiLeo was there, smiling as she recognized her guest. “Good to see you, honey. Come in.”

Courtney couldn’t quite manage a smile, but Mama smiled for both of them, a smile that made Courtney feel as if she mattered more than anyone in the world.

Mama DiLeo’s unique gift.

She always dressed to the nines, and had rocked a pixie cut for as long as Courtney had known her. While she didn’t stand much more than five feet two, including the heels, this widowed mother of six—five of whom were sons who reeked of testosterone—was a force to reckon with.

“Size doesn’t matter when you have superhero strength,” her oldest son, Nic, always said. “Mama has it in spades.”

Courtney had seen this woman stop arguments with a glare. She could break up a physical tussle between her sons with one sharp command.

Those superpowers and the smile were already smoothing the edges of Courtney’s mood.

“I’m really early,” she said. “But I wanted to talk with you before the house fills up.”

“Perfect. We have lots of catching up to do. I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

Since the bottom had fallen out of her world.

The house was unusually quiet today. During Sunday dinners, conversation swirled from the kitchen to the dining room to the family room down this hallway....

Everyone included. Everyone welcome.

The boundaries that constituted family were fluid with the DiLeos. There was always room for one more at the table. The front door was always open to anyone who needed a meal, a place to stay or some laughter. All that gracious hospitality was due to the enormous heart beating inside this one tiny woman. Mama DiLeo believed family was a function not defined by blood but by love.

Her heels tapped over the tile as she went to the stove and lifted the lid on a simmering pot, stirring the contents with a long-handled spoon. Steam rose, sending up a burst of garlic.

“Hope you’re hungry.” Mama set aside the spoon. “You’re my angel today. I could use help cutting these vegetables. My assistants are running late.”

“I should work since I forgot to bring anything. Not even flowers for your table.” Which only served to emphasize her deteriorating mental state. She never came to Sunday dinner without swinging by the bakery, the florist or the wine shop.

“The only thing you ever need to bring is yourself, honey.”

“That’s all you’re getting today, Mama. Good thing I know my way around a cutting board.”

With a smile, Mama went to the sink and washed her hands. “We need to make a pit stop before we get started. Grab that basket from the baker’s rack, will you please?”

Courtney did as requested and waited while Mama rooted through a drawer to locate a pair of clippers. Then Courtney followed her out the back door.

The scene from the porch was breathtaking. Mama was an inspired gardener, not in the traditional New Orleans sense of manicured lawns. She favored a more natural setting, with slate walkways lined with wildflowers, and benches beneath sprawling oak trees. Geraniums, hosta and butterfly bushes dotted the yard with splashes of color.

Courtney followed Mama to the herb garden, tried to absorb the peaceful setting to calm frayed nerves.

“So, what’s on your mind that you don’t want to discuss in front of everyone?” Mama asked as she knelt beside the garden to sort through a fragrant tangle of parsley and basil plants.

“I wanted to bounce something off you. I need some help, but I’m not sure I should ask for it. I trust you to advise me.”

Mama snipped some leaves and motioned Courtney to bring the basket closer. “What’s up?”

New Orleans might be the thirty-seventh-largest city in the nation, but Mama considered all the inhabitants related.

Family by blood. Family by love. Family by proximity. Family by work. Family by church. Family by krewe. A category for everyone she welcomed into her world. Courtney was one of the elite few with an official family connection. Sort of. Her brother Mac had married Mama’s unofficial daughter, Harley, who had become attached to the family at a young age.

There was no possible way Mama didn’t already know how life had blown up in Courtney’s face.

“I’d like to talk with Marc about my work situation, Mama. He tracks down people, and I need his opinion.”

Mama sank back on her haunches and glanced up. “That wasn’t what I was expecting. Not Nic?”

“We both work for state agencies, and I would never put him in a position of conflict.”

Mama frowned but conceded the point with a nod. “I already know why you don’t want to ask Harley and your brother.”

“All my family wants to help, of course, but everyone is so worried about Harley and Mac that I intentionally downplayed the situation so they wouldn’t start worrying about me, too.”

With Harley on bed rest for the remainder of her pregnancy, the whole family was in an uproar already. Mac was wrapping up their cases at their investigative agency and keeping up with their daughter’s schedule, which was another full-time job. That had been the only positive to this situation—all the free time had allowed Courtney to help by chauffeuring her niece around.

“They won’t be happy when they find out.”

That was an understatement. “They’re going to kill me. But I’ll deal with them when I have to.”

Mama pulled a face, and for a long moment, she just knelt there, clippers dangling from idle hands, clearly waiting. “Marc, hmm?”

“I would never dream of bothering him right now, but there’s a lot riding on the outcome.”

Children’s lives.

Then there was Courtney’s career. Giselle’s reputation. Nanette’s legacy. Nanette above all provided a convenient scapegoat for the FBI. Her heartbroken family, still struggling with grief, faced a media storm that would trash a woman who couldn’t defend herself. Courtney didn’t know what had happened to Araceli, but she knew Nanette would not have been negligent.

Courtney would not stand by and watch people she cared for take the fall any more than she would take the fall herself. She would not stand by while the FBI took their sweet time covering their butts while there were children missing.

“That’s what I want your opinion about. I know how difficult Marc’s recovery has been. If you don’t think it’s a good idea to bring up work, I will not open my mouth.”

For a moment, they considered each other. Then Mama’s eyes fluttered shut, and she inhaled deeply. She remained that way so long that Courtney felt compelled to look away, as if she had distressed a woman who didn’t need any more of a burden than to worry about the son she had almost lost.

Courtney would be left to accept that she was back to square one, all alone with the responsibility for a child’s life, whether or not she was on administrative leave. Where Courtney was didn’t matter.

Where Araceli was did.

But none of this was Mama’s problem, and Courtney had no right to put this on her. While she trusted Mama to be honest with her opinion about Marc, Courtney also knew that saying no wasn’t so simple for a nurturing woman who cared about people as much as she did. Mama was already worried about Marc. Now she’d start worrying about Courtney, too.

As the seconds ticked by, undisturbed except by the bees buzzing from flower to flower and squirrels scampering overhead, Courtney convinced herself that this was the stupidest, most selfish idea she’d ever come up with. She was being totally unfair.

Mama slowly rose to her feet.

Courtney offered a hand. “I am so sorry. I know you’re worried about Marc, and the last thing I should do is give you something else to worry about. Please forget I said anything at all, and you have to promise me you won’t start worrying about me.”

Mama chuckled. Dropping sprigs of parsley into the basket, she lifted her gaze to Courtney’s, eyes alight with laughter.

“Why are you apologizing, honey?” she asked. “You’re an answer to a prayer.”

* * *

MARC WINCED AS he put his weight on his leg, the pain that screamed through him literally stealing his breath. Why had he bothered getting out of bed?

Stupid question. If he stayed in bed too long his leg would stiffen and he wouldn’t be able to walk all day.

Making his way down the stairs carefully, clumsily, he clung to the banister for support while trying not to drop his cane, his leg making each step dangerous. With his luck, he’d fall and land on his damned head, and Vince would finally convince their mother to turn the downstairs office into an invalid’s bedroom complete with hospital bed. Of course, if Marc had any real luck, the fall might kill him. He would have been okay with that, too.

By the time he made his way to the last step, he was forced to stop and give his leg a break. The house was quiet, which was a good thing because another hour and everyone and their brother would show up for dinner. He needed caffeine before he could decide whether to contend with a shower and civilized company, or be uncivilized and hide in his room.

Either one meant tackling the stairs again.

From the hallway, he saw his mother in front of the sink. She must have heard him because she turned. For a split second, her expression told him that watching him hurt. Even placing his body weight on one side didn’t do a thing to minimize the pain of the leg he nearly dragged along. Throw in the fact that he was still half-drugged, and he must look like hell.

She quickly masked her reaction with a smile. “Good morning, sunshine.” Grabbing a mug from the drain board, she headed toward the coffeepot. “We have company.”

“There’s a surprise,” he shot back, deadpan.

Moving into the kitchen, he found their guest standing over the table chopping vegetables on a cutting board.

She met his gaze with gray eyes so clear they were almost startling. Or maybe it was the onions she was chopping that made her eyes seem so bright. He could smell them from here.

“Hola, Mac’s sister.”

“Hi, Marc,” was all she said, her smile forced.

“You remember Courtney,” his mother prompted, narrowing her gaze so he knew she didn’t like his rudeness.

Courtney Gerard was more than one of his mother’s strays. Courtney had a family connection—not blood but close enough that he should have known her name.

He remembered a lot more than her name.

Courtney was Marc’s Bathsheba. The exact type of woman who managed to catch his eye whether he was interested in her or not. Everything about her was long, from her willowy body and shapely legs to the glossy hair that flowed in an inky wave down her back. He remembered her all right, and it annoyed the hell out of him every time he saw her.

Which was every time he came home.

His mother pressed a mug of coffee into his hands, and he thanked her, leaning against the archway. He wouldn’t give the ladies a show by sitting down. Not when he wasn’t staying. The stairs were looking a helluva lot better than this kitchen right now. Half draining the mug in one swallow, he savored the heat that seared his throat.

His mother arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She also didn’t return the coffeepot.

He held the mug out. “You’re an angel, love.”

She topped him off, and he sipped again to make more room. He had to drink his fill now because he couldn’t make it up the stairs with the mug.

“Would you like something to eat? Anthony brought doughnuts from Nicola’s before church. There are still a few left.”

“Doughnuts can’t possibly touch whatever it is you’re cooking over there. I’ll wait until dinner.”

That pleased her. All the sharp edges smoothed from her expression. All the disapproval gone as fast as it had shown up. Like a good Italian mama, feeding people always made her day.

She retrieved a colander hanging from the rack on the wall and brought it to the table, where Courtney cleared onions off the cutting board. “We’ve been chatting about Courtney’s work,” his mother said. “I’d like you to weigh in.”

Marc could smell the setup from a mile away. He could sense it before Courtney even opened her mouth, a full mouth with dusky pink lips that made him think of kissing. And sex.

This woman needed to go home.

Or he needed to get back to Colorado.

“Wish I could, but I’ve really got to shower. I’m off to a late start if you want me for dinner.”

His mother frowned, and in two quick steps, she was at the counter again, grabbing the coffeepot.

“Finish this up, so I can brew a fresh pot.” She cut him off at the pass, wedging herself between him and the doorway.

“Won’t take long, Marc. I promise.” Courtney’s voice was as crystal clear as her gaze, direct and to the point, yet still somehow smoky. Like sex. A voice that would sound good in the dark. “I’d like to get your input if you don’t mind.”

He did mind. She was suddenly twitchy, almost urgent. Then she opened that pretty mouth and launched into a sob story about missing kids and a federal investigation.

Marc wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but if he had been guessing, this train wreck of a situation wouldn’t have even made the list.

Marc was sure he’d once heard what she did for a living, because he remembered thinking she had the luxury of making herself feel good by trying to save the world. Great in theory, but he knew too many people who empowered themselves at the expense of others. He didn’t respect the motivation.

Or maybe he just didn’t like Courtney.

He damn sure didn’t like her brother or the way he had used his money to steal Anthony’s longtime girlfriend, Harley.

Or maybe Marc didn’t like how he noticed Courtney. She looked like everything he wanted, but she wasn’t anything he was interested in. He was honest enough to admit that to himself.

Whatever the reason, he had his own no-win situation to deal with right now.

“No matter how I spin it, the outlook is grim,” he said, hoping to put a swift end to this interrogation. “If this kid hasn’t surfaced in eight years, the chances of finding her alive are not good.”

“But you do think it is possible to track her down, Marc, so at least we’d know what happened to her?”

God, he shouldn’t feel anything, but that look on her face... She was desperate, and he couldn’t offer much hope. “No one vanishes into thin air, but with kids, there is the unforeseeable luck factor. Freaks and traffickers prey on them. Or some random wacko may have taken a liking to her, and she wound up a nut job’s thrill. The FBI will find your Jane Doe, just a matter of time, but no one may ever know what happened to your other girl.”

To Courtney’s credit, she took reality standing. No drama. No tears. No pleas for him to sugarcoat the truth. Just that lovely face growing brittle around the edges as she struggled to cling to a last bit of hope, no matter how unrealistic.

“Wish I had a better opinion. Good luck.” He tried to make his escape.

But by the time he’d set down the cup and gotten halfway to the door, he heard Courtney say, “Even so, Marc, I have to look. Please tell me where to start.”

The plea in her voice stopped him. “You start by figuring out when your real girl was last seen. Until you figure that out, you can’t unravel where she might have gone.”

“Okay.” Her clear gaze clung to him, so eager, but the frown forming on her smooth brow convinced him that she didn’t have any idea how to proceed.

He wasn’t surprised. “I can tell you where to look, but I can’t magically give you the instinct to know what to look for. I can’t help you. You’ll have to take my word.”

This time, he was out the door before she could stop him with another question.